


Go get your woman, Jon Snow

by myrish_lace



Series: Love is the Death of Duty [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Dragons, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Kidnapping, Love Confessions, Physical Abuse, Prisoner of War, Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 12:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13741077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrish_lace/pseuds/myrish_lace
Summary: Cersei has agreed to keep Sansa as a hostage in King's Landing, in exchange for her brother Jaime, as a result of the deal reached in the Dragonpit at the end of Season 7. But when Cersei learns the truth of Jon's parentage, she breaks their bargain and threatens to kill Sansa. Jon embraces his Targaryen heritage in order to rescue her. Told from Jon and Sansa's points of view.





	Go get your woman, Jon Snow

**Author's Note:**

> My version of Jon choosing love over duty. Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> I'm myrish-lace-love on tumblr if you want to say hi :)

**Jon**

Jon’s hands shook as he read the Lannister scroll again. Davos and Tormund held their breath, exchanging worried glances. They stood well back from Jon’s desk.

 _As you are not Ned Stark’s son, your life has been a lie. Our agreement is void. Fight your enemy, or save Sansa Stark. She will not last the week_. - _Cersei Lannister_

She’s forcing us to split our army, Jon thought. 

Davos finally cleared his throat. “She won’t hurt Sansa, my lord.”

“She will,” Jon said. His sword hand flexed. Sam and Bran had tried to keep Jon’s parentage a secret, but Cersei had spies as far north as Winterfell, and those spies had launched ravens across the kingdom with the poisonous message. The Citadel, the Eyrie, King's Landing– they all knew the truth of his parentage.

Daenerys was furious, but the dead were approaching and they’d set the issue aside. Some part of Jon was relieved that he no longer had to keep up the pretense of their relationship.

 _I’m coming for you, Sansa. I won’t let Cersei hurt you while I live_. Jon dismissed his counselors and stalked off to his chambers. He threw a few items into a sack and set out to find Rhaegal.  He almost stumbled into Tormund as he left the castle.

"Tormund, what–“

“Knew you’d go after her,” Tormund said gruffly. “You love her, you bloody idiot."

“Of course I do, she’s my–“

“Your cousin, and the woman you wish warmed your bed. Stop, Jon, listen for once in your honorable life. You did the right thing. It was plain as day you loved her. You followed her around like a lovesick pup. But you wouldn’t do anything about it.” Tormund ran a hand through his hair. “You’re free now. She’s your woman. And this whole fucking war’s a waste without something to fight for.”

“We’re fighting for our survival,” Jon said.

Tormund jabbed a finger into his chest. “You knew about the Night King. You saw the army of the dead at Hardhome, saw those skeletons rise and rattle from the ground. Good men died, wildlings and watchers. You knew, and you were ready to run. Go south. Get warm. You almost walked away from it, Jon Snow, before that girl rode into the courtyard and you gasped like she was your queen and lover. We were there. We saw you, though you didn’t have eyes for anyone but her. You’re worried about whether Daenerys, the pretty blond queen with the monsters, will fight for us. I’m worried about whether you’ll still fight if Sansa dies. Whether the life will go out of your again. Now go save her, and come back to win this war.”

Jon sighed. Tormund was right. He carried a light inside him, frozen in time, that was Sansa’s smile. Her quick wit and smart counsel. If that light winked out, he might wink out too. Arya and Bran and Sam would keep him on his feet, but Sansa had brought him back from the dead.

*** 

**Sansa**

Cersei chipped away at Sansa’s protections one by one, as the queen grew wilder at Jaime’s absence. She’d had her soldiers attack Brienne, and lock her in a cell. Brienne destroyed five guards before they could drag her away.

Cersei took Sansa’s clothes next, ordering Sansa to dress in plain gowns. Sansa hid her smile as she dutifully changed. Cersei remembered the frivolous girl Sansa had been when she first set foot in King’s Landing, squealing over satin and jewels and myrish lace.

But Sansa no longer measured her life by the embroidery on her gown.

Cersei struck Sansa next, after realizing her new wardrobe hadn’t dulled her spirits. Sansa bore the marks with patience. Joffrey had ordered her beaten, and Ramsay had brutalized her. She was careful to cry though, fat hot tears that turned her nose red. She needed to give Cersei some satisfaction. She had to quench Cersei’s need for punishment, because there was still one punishment that left her trembling.  

Cersei brought Ser Gregor into Sansa’s chambers almost every day with a flourish, to remind Sansa of the "mercy” she’d shown so far, and the pain she could still unleash. Ser Gregor’s dead eyes were ringed with purple skin. Sansa sat stock still, in those moments, willing herself not to shake. Ser Gregor was the only monster Sansa had not faced, and the only one she feared.

Today, Cersei came alone. She sipped her wine, and smiled at Sansa. “Are you dreaming of a rescue? Your brother Robb never came for you when then was a war on. You pined and cried for a hero. Such a mournful little tune." She tilted her head. "I loved to hear it. I drank down your tears, little dove, because they meant my victory.”

Cersei sat next to Sansa on the bed. The dip in the mattress brought Sansa closer to her. Cersei put an arm around her. “I'd never have to cry such tears. Jaime would beat back the army of the dead to rescue me if I was captured.”

And yet he left you to go North, Sansa thought, but she stayed silent.

“I have a secret to tell you today, little dove. You won’t have heard the news, here in your cage.” Cersei gestured to the walls. “But it is gilded, isn’t it? Fit for a lady of Winterfell. A lady who will die screaming.”

Years ago, Sansa would have quailed. She would have ducked her head, and squeaked out a plea. But Sansa was done with begging for favors from her enemies.

_What would you think of your little dove, Cersei, if you I fed my last enemy to his own dogs?_

Cersei clucked her tongue at Sansa’s silence. Her grip on Sansa’s shoulders tightened. “Let’s begin. Your brother. The King in the North. Both of those are lies now, aren’t they? He’s king no longer. He’s bent the knee to a foreign whore, a Targaryen. He’s too busy in her bed to spare you a thought, I promise you that.”

Sansa went cold. When she spoke, her voice was even. “And the other lie?”

Cersei kissed her cheek. “Oh I do want to savior this, little dove. He’s not your brother.”

The ground shifted. Sansa wanted to grip the covers, but she would not give Cersei the satisfaction. “I don't believe you,” she said coldly.

Cersei struck her, hard, her ruby ring cutting into Sansa’s cheek. “My spies dug up the dirty truth,” Cersei said. “And why would your cousin come for you, when he has a war to win and a beautiful queen he can marry?" She touched Sansa’s face. Her fingers came away red with blood. "I’ll give you a few days, so you can let the truth sink in. Then I’ll bring Ser Gregor by. If Jon won’t come for you, I’m free to kill you. I don't need a prisoner anymore.” Sansa kept still, until Cersei had left, and for ten minutes after that, before she burst into tears.

*

Early next morning, Sansa peered out of her window. She basked in the sun shining on her face. The drugged wine Cersei drank ensured that the queen rose late, so Sansa’s daily ritual was safe. These moments of light and warmth were rare, but they were hers alone.

She thought of Arya and Bran, Winterfell and the weirwood tree. She tried not to think of Jon, of his kind grey eyes and soft, rare smiles. She refused to daydream about rescue. But this morning she caught herself humming Florian and Jonquil. She dashed away tears angrily.

 _There are no heroes_. She willed herself to let the words sink into her heart, her bones. She’d only prayed for Jon to come twice – once when Brienne was dragged screaming down the hallway, and once when Cersei allowed Ser Gregor to trail a finger down her cheek. Jon had a war to fight. He’d made the right choice. The smart choice. She was proud of him. And she would not, would not, would not pray for rescue today.

***

**Jon**

Rhaegal’s wings sent snow flying and flattened the brown grass with a whump. He thundered down to the field where Rickon had died. Rhaegal did not speak the language of love, or loyalty, as Ghost did, but he understood red hot fury. Jon’s rage and fear poured out of him like black smoke. Rhaegal snuffed at his chest.

The seven hells take the others and the army of the dead. He’d be back in less than a day thanks to Rhaegal’s swiftness, and Sansa would be safe and free from harm. And his again, a small voice whispered, his to love.

The dragon knelt to make a ladder of sorts for Jon to climb. Jon hiked himself up his vast back and scrambled for purchase on the spiny green scales. _Go_ , he roared silently, and Rhaegal spiraled up into the sky.

He flew Rhaegal through the night, the stars like bright diamonds in the sky around him. He landed Rhaegal outside King’s Landing’s gates. He willed the dragon to soar high enough to dodge Cersei’s cross bolts, and to breathe gouts of bright flame. Better than an army of soldiers for a distraction.

He ran for the Red Keep. The cover of darkness and his training as a ranger helped him get to the gate unseen. He couldn’t tell if it was Ghost or Rhaegal fueling his senses, but he could feel Sansa close by.  _She’s here,_ s _he’s afraid, she’s hurt._

A red madness overtook him, and he was a dragon himself as he cut through soldiers on the way to her door. Cersei’s guards gargled out their last words through slashed throats. Their blood soaked Jon’s blade and dripped onto the floor. He kicked the door down, snapping the hasp on the lock.

All he saw was Sansa, like a tunnel through the carnage. The war fell away, and Rhaegal’s roars faded into the background. Sansa threw herself into his arms. She was thin and bruised, but alive.

“You came,” she gasped. "I tried not to but I prayed, Jon, to the old gods and the new, for a hero to save me.”

“I’m not a hero,” Jon said, “but I’m here now.” He touched the welt on her cheek. “Rhaegal’s outside the city walls. I’m sorry I took so long.”

She managed a smile. “You flew here on dragon back, Jon. Is it – is it true, about you, and your parents?”

Jon swallowed. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, we’re cousins. I have Targaryen blood,” _yes, yes, yes, I want to kiss you_.

The Wall had fallen and the dead were marching for Winterfell and what was any of that, compared to the feel of Sansa in his arms?

_We could die tomorrow. We could die before we leave this castle. And I won’t die without telling her how I feel._

“I love you, Sansa, I’m in love with you, I want to marry you, I–“

She stopped him, kissing him ardently and it was searing hot, like dragon’s breath, like every promise he’d tried to make, like all the love he wanted to give. He was soaring and flying, saved in her embrace. She wrapped her arms around his neck. His fears dissolved in his chest. They were free to love each other, unshackled from shame at last.

Later they’d love beneath the heart tree, and kiss at their leisure as Lord and Lady of Winterfell. But their first kiss was quick, stolen before they rescued Brienne and escaped, and it launched a thousand more.

***

**Sansa**

After the wedding, after spring had dusted the tips of the trees with green and they'd welcomed their first baby girl, Sansa looked over at her husband early in the mornings. Jon was a late sleeper, because the work of the castle kept him going deep into the night, but she didn't mind. The sun slanted through the high open windows in the Lord’s Chambers and played over the locks of his dark hair. He seemed younger while he slumbered, softer somehow. Sansa's chest tightened as she drank her fill. _He came for me, when no one else would_.

These moments of light and warmth were rare, but they were hers alone, and hers forever.


End file.
